Bad Luck and Burnt Kitchens
by KaityBelle
Summary: From the moment Katie Bell had stepped out into the rain with her hole-riddled, sun-bleached umbrella, nothing had gone right. And then she met the arsehole in the flat upstairs. KBOW. AU. Please R&R!


**Some more word vomit of mine. It would mean the world and more if you would R &R!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.**

* * *

It had been a horrible, shitty day. From the moment Katie Bell had stepped out into the rain with her hole-riddled, sun-bleached umbrella, nothing had gone right.

Not only had she ruined her new russet combat boots, but she had failed on three attempts to unlock her car before realizing that it had been broken into, her meager belongings scattered around the backseat as though torn through by an angry ex-spouse. Only she had no ex-spouse. Not even a boyfriend. And the reminder of that fact made her even more unbearably unhappy as she stumbled to the street corner in search of a cab.

Ten minutes and several panicked calls to her boss later, Katie was anxiously staring out the window of perhaps the most rancid-smelling cab in the entirety of south England.

To make matters infinitely worse, upon arriving at her workplace, she was given an apologetic look and a pink slip, along with a box to carry all of her things home.

Needless to say she spent half an hour in the lobby washroom, wondering how in the hell she was supposed to keep herself presentable after a morning as horrendous as that.

That is why, at approximately 6:30 in the evening, she was piss-drunk and half asleep on her living room couch, thinking absently about how on earth she was going to explain all of this to her mother (a generally quiet woman, if a little callous). She remained there, pondering the extended plight of her misery, when a loud crash sounded from the flat above her. Moaning over her now pounding headache, she decided to do something about the berk upstairs making the obnoxious racket.

The last thing in the world she needed was some arse plodding around their flat when the tenant below them had had such an audaciously dreadful morning. She pulled herself off the faded floral cushions, tripping over the edge of the rug by the door before finally making it out of her stupor.

The halls of the dank apartment complex were carpeted with a frayed, stained old red, accompanied by truly disgusting wallpaper adorned with what Katie assumed were fairies. Or maybe poorly dressed, miniature old people with pointy ears. At this point, she was both hammered and in a foul mood, so she went with the latter. Climbing the stairs was difficult, but at last she made it to the idiot's apartment.

Katie knocked on the old door of flat 6B, trying to come up with something to say (other than "please be a fucking polite person and stop ramming a rhinoceros against your floor, because it is also my roof"), when the door sung open to reveal a muscled, shirtless chest. Attached to a body, of course. But the chest was five inches away from her face, and thus she had a hard time of opening her mouth, craning her neck up, and saying, "Could you please stop making so much noise?"

The man, (and by god he was attractive, all burly and brunette, long-nosed with a strong jaw and a look of amusement dancing in his hazel eyes), looked at me, raising an eyebrow mockingly, said, "Are you as drunk as I think you are?"

His accent was thick and warm. Scottish. Katie's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, "That was _rude_ ," she muttered in disbelief, glancing past the attractive Scottish man at the mess of apartment, "What were you doing, anyways?"

He frowned, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, "That's not your business, random-girl-from-the-flat-on-the-floor-below-me."

Overwhelmed by a bough of drunken dizziness, Katie leaned on the door frame, sliding to her knees. She suddenly regretted this stupid little trip upstairs and wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the planet.

"Hey, are you okay?" The frown turned concerned. From this angle he looked very, very tall. Katie felt very, very ill. She let out a groan of pain. And then the world went black.

When she woke up, Katie was lying on a couch. No, that wasn't quite right. It was more like she was being swallowed by the couch. The cushions were so soft they enveloped her in a hug. She smiled for the first time in a long while, opening her eyes blearily. The soft light had made her forget. But in a second it came back, rushing in with a killer headache.

"Oh, damn," she groaned.

A quiet chuckle sounded from a few feet away. Kates focused on the attractive Scottish man, who was pouring coffee into two large mugs.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, grinning at the undoubtedly stupid expression on my face. I moaned, letting my face fall into my hands.

Another chuckle. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black," I muttered, and a warm cup was placed in my hand, "And thanks."

No-name sat down next to me, sinking into the heavenly squishiness of the sofa. "So," he began, "Do you have a name, random-girl-from-the-flat-on-the-floor-below-me?"

"Katie," I said, taking a sip of coffee, "And you?"

"Oliver," he said, "And sorry for making noise yesterday. Must've been painful in that condition."

I rolled my eyes, "I wasn't _that_ drunk."

"Really?," Oliver snorted, "You _passed out_ on my welcome mat. I'd say you were properly pissed."

I froze, " _Yesterday_?"

"Er, yeah," Oliver scratched the back of his head in discomfort, "Sorry about that. You didn't want me to move you, and you were complaining a lot about something."

I sighed, "In my defense yesterday was completely awful. I deserved a good pint. Or to mention a nap on a couch like this"

"Care to elaborate?"

"My car was broken into, I was late to work, then promptly fired. Oh, and I ruined a pair of really nice boots."

Oliver shook his head in mock disapproval, "Now the shoes were too far, Kates."

I raised an eyebrow. Kates? Only my friends called me that. Ah, well. I suppose I did faint on his porch. Speaking of - what had he been doing so loudly? I voiced this question aloud.

"Um," Oliver said sheepishly, "I was attempting to move from my bed to the floor. Somehow it was a less graceful transition that I anticipated." Katie let out a chuckle and sipped the coffee.

There was a prolonged moment of silence - painful almost. I resorted to drinking more coffee, despite the fact that it burned my tongue.

"So," Oliver began, drawing out the word until he cleared his throat awkwardly.

And that's when the kitchen burst into flames.

* * *

 **Thank you for giving this a read! I'll update if you want me to. Let me know what you think!**


End file.
